Sometimes She Drops By
by illyrilex
Summary: Post RE5 One-shot: Jill just wants to be left the hell alone. Rated T for bad words.
**It's been way too long since I've written anything, but a lack of Jill/Claire interaction sort of dragged me out of my funk. It's been awhile, so please excuse any typos (and rest assured I'll fix them eventually).**

 **As always, everyone belongs to Capcom.**

 **Onward~!**

* * *

If the average person were to define "Friday", they would probably say that it's one of the days of the week. Those with steady nine to five jobs might make it a point to say it's the end of the work week, while others might say it's a movie starring Ice Cube. For the woman sitting in a darkened living room, Friday was the sixth day of the week (and a movie starring Ice Cube), characterized by other people's excitement as they prepped for weekends of cocaine sprees and hedonism. Jill Valentine's Fridays never consisted of either of those things, and they were always perfectly fine. However, this particular Friday was nowhere near "fine."

Although engrossed in a film, a nagging feeling of self-loathing violently overshadowed any bliss Jill might have felt about having some much-needed time to herself. Everything was completely fucked, particularly her very existence. She felt like a useless shell of a human being; she had (metaphorically) blood-stained hands and no purpose. Why was she alive? What was the point? The bitter thoughts that ran through her head took her down a dark path that was more disturbing than she would have liked to admit.

Jill aggressively bit into a cheeseburger, doing her best to fight off a harsh wave of sadness that was suddenly creeping into the back of her mind. She hoped she was just going through some major PMS but knew it wasn't that simple: Thanks to Wesker's experimentation and happy-fun-P30-murder-puppet-torture-times, Jill's mental and emotional stability were questionable at best. Having the flat anti-feeling P30 forced on her suddenly replaced by over two years worth of pent-up emotions basically short-circuited her brain. Despite her progress in rehab she was more than likely going to have to take mood stabilizers, and even antipsychotics, for the rest of her life.

Good game, Al _._

Click-CLACK

The sound of the front door unlocking briefly startled, but then immediately annoyed Jill: All she wanted was to be left alone with her stupid food and her stupid feelings and her stupid face. Chris wasn't even supposed to be back for several more hours - why the hell was he so early? Jill took a handful of fries and turned toward the entryway with every intention of mumbling a dull greeting, but stopped when she saw Claire Redfield standing in all her splendid, I-don't-live-here-but-I'll-just-barge-in-anyway glory. Jill took a deep breath: she wasn't exactly on the best terms with Chris's sister.

"Hey." Claire said stiffly.

"Hi." Jill paused. She tried to offer a polite smile, but her sour disposition was not having it. "Chris isn't here," she said with something of a grimace.

"I know - I already talked to him."

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

If the siblings spoke it meant Claire's visit wasn't some spur-of-the-moment decision to spend quality time with her big brother; it meant big brother had sent her over to babysit. Again.

Jill watched in silence as Claire flipped on the dining room light and placed her backpack and motorcycle helmet on the table. She unzipped her bag and pulled out several file folders and a battered-looking laptop, all the while pretending not to notice she was being watched. She wordlessly lowered herself into a chair and quickly set to work on whatever TerraSave stuff and things she had brought along.

Meanwhile, Jill furrowed her brow and resumed her assault on the cheeseburger. The new dynamic between herself and Claire vexed her. In the old days, her normally laid-back friend (if she could still call her that) would have happily taken some fries and asked what was on the tv before sitting down on the couch and chatting over the movie. However, that sort thing was over: Claire was almost always a little nervous, and even a bit standoffish around Jill, who understood - mostly. Not many people would feel at ease around a killer with a melanin deficiency and unfortunate tendency to lapse into word salad over things like black licorice or Paz Vega.

That didn't make it suck any less though.

Jill turned back to the television, but Claire's presence was making it impossible to concentrate on the movie. She thought about maybe just going to sleep, but reasoned that if she started sleepwalking Claire would probably end up stabbing her in the head. And then Claire would have to deal with the cleanup, and she would have to explain herself to Chris, who would no doubt wonder why his sister decided to stab his roommate in the head. Luckily, neither would have to deal with any legal repercussions because the now very dead roommate had all kinds of crazy shit in her blood; all they had to do was say she was some kind of biohazardous threat. And then the siblings would both breathe a sigh of relief because ding-dong the roommate's dead, and -

Jill scowled. What the hell even was this train of thought? No longer hungry, she tossed the remnants of her burger on the coffee table and sighed.

"Claire." Jill turned so she could face her unwanted guest, who was practically buried under a large stack of paperwork. "Go home."

"I can't," came a somewhat garbled reply. "I told Chris I would come by and -"

"And you did. So give him a sit rep and go."

Claire's bright eyes briefly flicked toward Jill's general direction, but she masterfully avoided making eye contact. She turned her attention to her computer screen.

"You know," she said, clearly distracted. "Chris gets kinda… worried when you're -"

Jill groaned.

"Being crazy doesn't make me an invalid. I can take care of myself!"

"No one is saying you can't. We just want to make sure - "

"I'm FINE."

"Okay, but I can't just leave you here."

"Actually, you can."

"Yeah, but then you might, like... go to town with a Sharpie or something, and then where would we be."

Jill felt a surge of anger, embarrassment, and shame all at once. When she was less stable she had done some erratic, sometimes even violent things: Claire mentioning one of the worst incidents in such a casual way - something she wasn't even around to see - showed that A) Redfield-to-Redfield shit-talking was, not surprisingly, a thing, and B) Claire was sort of an asshole.

"Wow." Jill's voice was calm, measured. It directly conflicted with an overwhelming urge to tackle the other woman clear across the room. "Thanks for the swell reminder of how fucked up I am."

Claire's face turned an unflattering shade of pink. "I didn't say - I mean -"

"Right. You know, I get that I'm a headcase, and that I make you uncomfortable, but could you maybe try not to be such a bitch about it?!"

"Hey - that's not cool!"

"You know what's not cool? These bullshit visits of yours!" Jill exclaimed. She angrily rose from her seat and walked around the couch so she could get a better view of Claire. "You waltz in here, say maybe three words, and generally act like I'm going to murder you at any second, and now you're bringing up one of my greatest hits like it's no big deal to justify your being here, which - by the way - is insulting in and of itself! I may be sick but I'm a functioning adult! Believe it or not I even went out and got food today! BY MYSELF!"

"And that's great, but I just don't want you to go and do something… something weird!"

"Are you kidding me?! I've been back for months!" Jill paced back and forth, wringing her hands as she spoke. "I haven't had any incidents in weeks, and I'm so medicated that I could probably slice my nipples off and be totally okay with it! What's it going to take to get you - and everyone else - to ease up already?"

Claire tilted her chair so it stood on its back legs and began rocking it back and forth: a nervous gesture.

"I don't know? Try not to be so… unpredictable all the time? Because I never know what to expect when I see you. Like, are you even thinking clearly right now? Maybe you should have some tea."

"Seriously?!"

"Well, yeah… I mean, it might help take the edge off."

"You know what would help take the edge off? If you would just listen to what I'm saying! I don't need tea or chaperones - I need to be left alone!"

"That may be the case, but it's too risky when you're like this."

"Huh?" Jill was genuinely stumped. "Like what?!"

"You know…" Claire looked up at the ceiling and made a face. "This."

Jill let out a guttural sound and buried her pale face in her hands. This conversation wasn't going anywhere; all it was doing was triggering another mood swing.

"You know what?" Jill started toward the guest room where she was staying. Her voice cracked ever so slightly and she hoped to hell that it wasn't noticeable. "I'm done here. You go ahead and do your thing, and I'll go off and try not to do anything weird. Have a nice night."

"Aw, shit - Jill -!" Claire called, but it fell on deaf ears. Jill entered her room and shut the door a little harder than she intended. She felt stupid and childish for making what was probably maybe a bit of a dramatic exit, but she had to get away before her screwy emotions made a guest appearance in front of company. With a frustrated sigh she climbed into bed and pulled the blankets up over herself.

Maybe getting stabbed in the head wouldn't be such a bad thing.

* * *

 _Okay, now that it's done, here are a couple of short notes for your pleasure:_

 _*Happy-fun-P30-murder-puppet-torture-times would drive even the most stoic, totally well-adjusted person insane. Jill would definitely be able to bounce back to an extent, but she's only human._

 _*For those who don't know, Paz Vega is a Spanish model, and the alleged inspiration behind Excella's final character design._

 _As always, feedback and kudos are always appreciated! Cheers!_


End file.
